Irony
by RamenNoodlesXD
Summary: It took only a single night for the professor to realize what he'd been missing all along. In a matter of minutes, the situation would've turned out differently, but instead, he made the wrong choice. Heavy slash, with established Luke/Flora on the side.


**Disclaimer: **I do not own Professor Layton, Level-5 owns _all_ rights to it.

**Warning: **This contains slash. Please read at your own discretion. Flames will be ignored and deleted.

* * *

_"The best thing about dreams is that fleeting moment,_

_when you are between asleep and awake, _

_when you don't know the difference between reality and fantasy, _

_when for just that one moment you feel with your entire soul _

_that the dream is reality, and it really happened." - _Unknown

* * *

Flora is pregnant.

Layton's mouth curved downward into a slight frown as the thought slipped into his mind for what seemed to be the billionth time that morning. He grunted sleepily, putting a hand over his eyes to block the bright, buttery sunlight that manages to shine through his slightly-dirty windows. In a decidedly uncharactertistic and lazy manner, he decided that he would rather spend another fifteen minutes in bed before he has to get up and face the inevitable.

"_Professor, we've got something wonderful to tell you!"_

_Layton tilted his head upward, having been interrupted from leafing through the faded, yellowed pages of a photo album he had recently unearthed in the attic. Flora stood beside Luke, her hands intertwined tightly with his. Her brown chestnut hair was pulled up in its usual ponytail, and she was dressed in a pink skirt and white blouse, making her look as immaculate as ever. A huge smile lit up the girl's - no, young woman's - face, her cheeks flushed and raised with unmistakable joy._

"_Yes, you two, what is it that you are so eager to tell me?" The professor asked, his tone indulgent. The thousand-watt smiles stretched across their faces caused him to smile as well, but at the same time, a wave of foreboding sent a small shiver through him and filled him with unexplained dread__. He set the old photo album down on the side table and shakily reached for his tea._

"_Well…" A _look_ passed between his two charges, one that held anxiety, happiness, and numerous other emotions at the same time. This look seemed markedly different from the mischievous, playful ones that he had seen them share in their childhood. With a pang of sadness, he reminded himself that they weren't children anymore._

"_Professor… I'm pregnant!" Flora squealed, holding a hand over her flat stomach as if she could already feel the life-carrying bulge growing there. Luke grinned proudly at the professor and wrapped an arm around Flora's shoulders, waiting anxiously for his reaction. _

_To say the least, Layton's reception was highly unexpected._

_The steaming cup of chamomile that the professor had been holding fell from his grasp, spilling its scalding hot contents all over his black trousers with an almost-audible hissing sound followed by thin curls of white steam._

_Flora gave a soft gasp and immediately rushed to the kitchen to fetch a towel. Luke grasped the professor's shoulder, shaking him gently and asking if he was alright. _

_The professor's face was eerily blank. For a moment, Luke's words became white noise and the only thought that crossed his mind was it'stoolateandmyGodthey'regoingtohaveafamilyit'stoolateI'llneverbeableto - _

"... _fessor… Professor! Snap out of it!" _

_Layton snapped out of his daze, wincing as he felt the sting of his newly acquired burns. It took every ounce of self-control for him not to cry out, but the physical scalds on his legs were nothing compared to the immense pain he felt inside. He blinked, Luke's concerned face slowly coming into focus in his blurry vision._

"_I-I'm fine, Luke. I'm fine." He forced a small, reluctant smile, but it wasn't really much of a smile as it was a grimace. "I'm happy for you." he added, trying not to make it sound like an afterthought. The relieved expression on Luke's face made up for the guilt that came with the lie._

_And to tell the truth, he _wasn't _fine, and probably wouldn't be for a long time._

'It would be nothing but improper if you weren't happy for their future,' Layton scolded himself wearily, though he couldn't quite bring himself to agree with the oft-repeated sentiment. It was starting to sound forced and repetitive, even in his own mind.

The heavy feeling that had manifested in his heart showed no signs of fading anytime soon. He was beginning to feel quite frustrated with himself, for his sudden inability to repress the feelings that he had struggled so much to maintain in the past. He knew that harboring anything more than parental affection for a person that was so much younger than him, especially a male, would not be taken lightly, at _all_, by anyone. It was disgusting and selfish of him to even think about such a thing.

'He is practically your _son_, Layton,' he told himself firmly, hopefully for the last time. 'And you are nothing more than a father figure to him.'

With that thought planted, albeit shakily, in his head, he permitted himself a small, triumphant smile. The tight feeling in his chest felt slightly better, but it still lingered and it _ached_. He reluctantly slid out between his warm sheets and toed around for his house slippers, shivering at the thought of his bare feet touching the cold wooden floor.

It is the dead of winter across London. Well, dead wasn't _really_ the proper term, Layton reflected idly, shrugging into his plain beige robe. He made his way to the window to look down upon the snow-covered streets, where children laughed and played amongst the white slush, red in the cheeks and emitting squeals of enjoyment.

The surrounding area was alive and practically throbbing with people. Most of them wandered around, looking among the colorful street vendors overflowing with fresh produce and a variety of other goods on sale, drawn in by the insistent calls of the merchants. Some were gossiping like nosy parrots against the damp, frost-covered buildings, doing a poor job of looking inconspicuous. The rest were merely standing around, basking in the hustle and bustle surrounding their midst.

With one final glance downward, Layton turned around and headed into the bathroom, intent on preparing himself for the day. Since Gressenheller University was currently out due to holidays and there were no urgent cases for him to solve at the time, he took it upon himself to take a well-earned break. However, he learned that he was easily bored with such mundane domesticity and took to spending several hours doing strange things like people-watching, among other things.

'I wonder if it is possible to pickle one's finger,' he mused, staring back at his own haggard reflection in the mirror.

Today was going to be a good day.

* * *

After his morning routine of taking a shower, brushing his teeth vigorously, and getting dressed, Layton found himself in his study, perched in his favorite chair and quietly poring over a few news articles about some sort of peculiar crime outbreak in a tiny village on the outskirts of London.

What was interesting about it, though, was that none of the villagers had actually ever _seen_ the accused criminals. Rather, they _heard_ them, through a garbled, eerie cacophony of noises, which was why the title of the article, as strange as it sounded, proclaimed in big bold letters: **GHOST BURGLAR TERRORIZES VILLAGE RESIDENTS**.

"Fascinating…" Layton hummed to himself, eyebrows furrowing and a tiny smile ghosting on his lips. Cases like that were his favorite. Then he sighed, shook his head as if to chastise himself, and tucked the article away underneath the pile of newspapers cluttering his already-haphazard desk. This was no time to pursue what was no doubt a scintillating mystery, for he was too distracted to put his mind to good use at the moment.

He carefully grasped the handle of his tea cup, the burns on his thigh serving as a grim reminder of last night, and brought the brim to his lips, permitting the hot liquid to enter his mouth and slide into his throat. The tea makes a smooth path down his esophagus and settles pleasantly in his stomach, causing his whole body to feel comfortably warm and making him close his eyes, sighing with contentment.

There really _was_ nothing better than a good cup of hot tea in the morning. After his brief moment of herbal-induced euphoria faded, he opened his eyes in a dazed manner, and his gaze fell upon the old photo album that he had been looking at yesterday.

His hand reached for it, fingers gliding across the worn old cover as if trying to memorize every complicated, curling pattern embossed in its aged leather exterior. He chewed on his bottom lip, debating whether he should indulge in taking a trip down memory lane or not, and wondered if it would damage his resolve if he did.

'Oh, what could it hurt?' he thought to himself, and lifted the cover with slightly trembling hands. The first picture was of him and Luke and Flora, taken over ten years ago. It showed an eleven year old Luke with a pen poised over a notepad, 'interrogating' a few cows, while a twenty-four year old Layton looked on with amusement, and in the background, Flora was bent over slightly, observing one of the chickens and giggling as she did so.* The corners of Layton's lips curved up in a wistful smile. That was taken during their stay in Dropstone, in the middle of the village's 50th anniversary celebration.

'It's funny how the time just passes by. You don't even notice how fast it's going until it's right there in your face,' He sighed, then turned to the second page. The following picture made his smile grow wider; it was the time when Luke had just turned sixteen. During his birthday party, his school mates had drawn random doodles on his face with (_not_ permanent, thank God) black marker while he was asleep on the couch.

[Flashback]

"_Professor!"_

_At the sound of Luke's distraught voice, Layton's head instantly snapped up from the complex sliding puzzle he had been working on. Worry creased his face and his heart pounded with fear, thinking that Luke was in some kind of danger._

"_In here, my boy!" Layton shouted, and it didn't take long for Luke to burst into the study, his harsh pants indicating that he had _ran_ all the way there. Layton's ears detected the faint sound of raucous laughter coming from downstairs in the living room. Luke shut the door and huffed angrily, then reluctantly turned to face him._

_Then, Layton realized what had happened._

"_O-Oh my…" He covered his smile with his hand. "I _do_ hope that's not permanent marker, Luke," he remarked in a worried tone, though his voice shook from barely-suppressed laughter. _

"_Professor! Oh would you stop laughing- this is hardly the time to be in hysterics!" Luke whined exasperatedly, crossing his arms and pouting like a petulant child. _

_Of course, that did nothing to stem the professor's laughter. In fact, it only served to encourage it._

"_I'm sorry, Luke, but…" He broke out into another round of barely-stifled guffaws, and Luke's bottom lip began to tremble. Layton's laughter ceased. Thinking that he had truly hurt the boys feelings, he opened his mouth to comfort the younger man._

"_Oh Luke, I didn't mean to…" His apology was cut off, however, when Luke suddenly burst into his own fit of laughter. Puzzled, Layton stared at him, at his pink-tinted cheeks and sleep-tousled chestnut hair and the unintentionally sensual curve of his mouth. A strange, clenching feeling grew in the pit of his stomach. Suddenly, the room seemed a little warmer and, Christ above, he just couldn't stop _staring_ at the other man__. _

"_Hey, Professor…" Layton snapped out of his momentary ogling, and saw Luke's sheepish face. "Could you… help me wash this off?"_

'_Adorable' was the only word Layton could think of at the moment, but then he realized that his time to respond was past the point of socially acceptable already._

"_Oh… of course I will." As he led Luke to the bathroom, that strange feeling never left him._

_Little did he know that that was one of the first signs of what was soon to be a strange, sick revelation..._

Layton's breath hitched a little at the memory, but he stopped himself from thinking about it too much and continued onto the next page.

He tried to tell himself that no, his hands were _not_ shaking, but there were only so many lies that he could tell himself in a single day.

* * *

After a couple of hours, Layton looked up from the last picture of the photo album and realized that it was already late in the afternoon. He stood up from the hard wooden chair, stretching out his stiff limbs from being in the same position for a while, and peered out of his window.

Heavy rain drizzled outside, making the snow swirl into manholes and sewer gates. The crowd outside was scattering, holding newspapers and hands over their heads in order to shield themselves from the sharp rain, fleeing hurriedly to the comfort of their warm homes. The children, having been previously involved in snow fights, were now splashing around in the chilly rain puddles, soaked to the bone, until their well-meaning parents ordered them to get inside before they caught pneumonia.

"My, my, it sure is bad out there…"

The corners of Layton's mouth quirked downward into a deep frown, and the sigh that escaped his lips seconds later mirrored the expression. Silly as it may sound, the rain made him feel rather… _melancholy_ at times, especially when he was alone in the house. The only company that he kept on these rainy days was the sound of the storm, dripping from the gutters and splashing onto the rooftops like watery earth-bound meteors.

Tearing his eyes away from the cold gray scenery of the outside world, Layton walked back to his desk and sipped some of the unfinished tea in his cup. To his disappointment, the liquid had already gone cold, so the man walked out of his messy study and headed for his equally messy kitchen. Making his way to the stove to heat up the leftover tea in the kettle, he noticed that the sink was housing a steadily-growing pile of dirty dishes and made a mental note to rectify the situation later.

'A true gentleman never leaves dirty dishes in the sink,' he tsk'ed to himself, turning the knob and setting the teapot to a boil. He sat down at the kitchen table with a good book to read, prepared to wait for the tea, when suddenly, the sound of a knock came from his door.

Layton jumped slightly, momentarily surprised by the abrupt noise. Nevertheless, he stood up and made his way to the front door, raising an eyebrow on the way there.

'Now who could _that_ be? Surely no sane person would visit now, not when it's raining so heavily outside...' he mused, but was snapped out of his thoughts when the knocking became more urgent, causing him to speed up a bit.

Without really knowing why, Layton grasped the doorknob tightly and does not hesitate to open it wide, despite there being the risk of someone trying to rob him or something. But instead of a burglar, it was Luke who stood in the doorway, wet bangs clinging onto his forehead and his whole frame wracked with uncontrollable shivers.

"Luke!" the professor exclaimed in surprise. He shook his head to get rid of his momentary shock and allowed the younger man to come inside, out of the merciless rain.

For a long moment, neither of them said anything. Layton tried to talk, but his mouth seemed to be permanently welded shut. Luke just stood there, his clothes and his hair dripping rainwater on the recently-polished floorboards. In the end, it was Luke who broke the awkward silence.

"_I'm so sorry, professor_," he blurted out, looking quite flustered, "I know it's rude for me to just come uninvited like this, but so many things have happened and I seriously don't know if I can take it and I'm ruining your floor aren't I-" The younger man shut his mouth when Layton held up a hand, indicating that he should stop and gather his wits about him.

"Calm down, Luke!" said Layton, amusement evident in his voice. "Now is not the time to fret about my floor, now is it?" he chuckled, causing Luke to smile sheepishly. "Come into the kitchen, a good cup of tea ought to warm you up… Goodness, Luke, what on _Earth_ were you thinking? That rain is nothing to be running around in!" The professor chastised in a manner that was reminiscent of an exasperated mother hen. Luke rolled his eyes good-naturedly at the familiar gesture as they both stepped into the kitchen.

By now, a hazardous trail of water led from the front door to the kitchen table, so Layton took it upon himself to grab a towel from the bathroom and wiped it up before someone could slip and break their neck.

"You should probably change out of those damp clothes, Luke " Layton suggested, pouring tea into two porcelain cups. Luke's face flushed slightly, but the professor didn't notice, preoccupied with the tea. "You may borrow something from my closet, although I don't know if you can find anything that is in your size,"

"Alright professor," Luke nodded in agreement, already on his way to Layton's room, "And… thanks," he added meekly, before vanishing up the stairs.

When he was gone, the professor smiled knowingly. He took comfort in the fact that, although people grew older and more seasoned as life went on, parts of them never changed no matter how much time has passed.

* * *

It was quiet again.

Luke sipped his tea silently, eyes darting around the warm little kitchen. His gaze involuntarily landed on the professor when he thought the man wasn't looking. If Layton noticed his furtive glances, he did nothing to show it.

He was dressed in one of Layton's spare t-shirts, which went down all the way above his kneecaps, and a pair of his trademark black slacks. The attire was soft and comfortable, and it smelled of pen ink and another scent that Luke couldn't quite place. Whatever it was, it made his head feel pleasantly light…

"Luke… what in the world are you _doing_?" The professor's voice jolted him out of his thoughts, and Luke blinked in a dazed manner.

"W-What? Oh…" the younger man blushed once he realized what happened. He'd been caught sniffing the professor's shirt! How embarrassing… "I was just um… Th-Thanks for letting me stay here on such short notice, professor." he stammered, smoothly changing the flow of the conversation.

"Not a problem. You're always welcome here," Layton smiled reassuringly, making Luke's blush even worse. There was another long pause; the look on the professor's face was curious. "However, may I enquire as to _why_ you have arrived here so abruptly?"

Luke's stomach churned unpleasantly. He'd been hoping that Layton wouldn't ask _that_ question, but now, Luke had no choice but to explain. Resisting the strong urge to sigh wearily, he opened his mouth to speak, "Flora and I... had a row."

The words tumbled out of his mouth of their own accord. Last night, he had arrived home late from his shift at the local pet clinic. Under certain circumstances involving a _literal_ wild goose chase and a scared hedgehog, a female colleague of his had accidentally tripped and fallen on him, smudging his shoulder with a faint lipstick stain.

However, as the day dragged on and more and more work was piled upon him, Luke had completely forgotten to wash the lipstick off of his shirt. So when he stumbled home, exhausted and weary, Flora had greeted him with a kiss, asking how work was and why he came home so late. Luke pulled his coat off, prepared to go on a spiel about how some wayward stray had wreaked havoc in the clinic, but Flora had spotted the lipstick on his shoulder before he could even get a word out. Needless to say, things went downhill from there.

"She accused me of being unfaithful, professor," Luke sighed sadly, palm cradling his cheek. The look on his face exuded an aura of misery. "When I tried to explain the situation to her, she wouldn't hear any of it and kicked me out, so last night, I stayed at the inn. However, I didn't have enough money for another night, so… That's why I came here."

"Ah… I see now," Layton murmured, staring at Luke with undisguised sympathy. "Oh Luke, don't let this affect you too much." When the expression on the younger man's face didn't lighten, he continued, "I'm certain that Flora didn't mean to be that harsh. Pregnancy usually comes with unsteady hormones, after all, and I'm sure she'll come around eventually."

Luke nodded and made a noise of agreement, a little bit more comforted at those words. He took a bigger sip of his tea, and bought a hand up to his forehead to wipe his damp fringe out of his eyes. "I really do hope so, professor…" Luke paused, then added, "To be honest, I… I'm kind of frightened,"

Layton stayed silent, coaxing him to go on. "Wh-What if I'm not cut out to be a father?"

The professor opened his mouth to protest. Although his voice was slowly breaking, Luke pressed on, determined not to be interrupted, "The road to parenthood is hard enough, so what'll happen when I actually _arrive_ there? There's so many responsibilities, so many obstacles that Flora and I have to overcome, and I... I honestly don't know if I'm ready for them yet."

Right now, the silence is neither awkward nor stifling. For a moment, Layton didn't know what to say. He's never quite dealt with a situation like this before, even though he had come pretty close with Claire on this matter. He had no idea how to comfort his former apprentice now, but he'd be damned if he didn't try his best to do so.

"Luke, do you… remember the day of our first meeting?"

Luke blinked, surprised by the off-topic question. "Well, sure I do professor," said the younger of the two, smiling slightly at the memory. "You looked at me like I was some kind of little monster, though, I couldn't understand why,"

The professor chuckled slightly, bringing a hand up to scratch his the back of his head. "Well, in all honesty… you were quite a handful back then,"

Luke rolled his eyes good-naturedly and retorts, "Well, I was four, you couldn't exactly blame me, now could you?"*

Layton nodded in an amused manner, "Yes, you do bear a point, but…" the playful light in his eyes dimmed down to a quiet little glint, and the conversation turned sincere in an instant.

"It was a _terrifying _experience for me," the older man confessed, "As knowledgeable as I was of puzzles and mysteries and all of those cognitive things, I had no idea how to raise you properly. Every time you cried, threw a temper tantrum, or got something as small as a tiny scrape on your knee, I would end up in a helpless panic. Everything I did seemed to be wrong," Layton's tone was wistful as he said this. No matter how afraid he had been back then, he would have done it all over again if given the chance.

Luke nodded in an understanding way, suddenly seeing and appreciating his former guardian in a different light. To tell the truth, his feelings for the older man had begun to change over time, into something _more_ than just family love.

But now was not the time nor the place to think about that. He had buried those thoughts along with his adolescence years ago, and it wouldn't do for those feelings to resurface now.

"I was so scared that I would accidentally let something happen to you. I was so used to just worrying about myself instead of others," 'Especially after Claire disappeared,' he added mentally, choosing not to delve into that particular topic.

Luke raised an eyebrow, a gesture of impatience coming from him, and Layton chuckled, having seen that action from him many times before. "Haha, well, I'll go ahead and get to the point of this lengthy tale, my boy. After you had declared yourself as my self-appointed apprentice…"

At those words, Luke looked thoroughly embarrassed. Oh, he remembered those days; being a wide-eyed, star-struck puppy and following the brilliant Hershel Layton around on his many adventures, always claiming to be his number one apprentice. "… Things started getting easier, more… natural, almost,"

Layton chuckled, "I'll admit, I had a few bumps… or more like mountains, along the way, but I never regret raising you, just like how you will not regret raising your child with Flora. And to me, instead of being just a consistent, worrying headache, you soon became… something much more than that_._"

Those last words caused Luke's heart to palpitate, though he didn't know why it caused such a profound feeling within him. All the same, he was currently filled with overwhelming emotions of happiness. It meant so much to him to hear those words, that he had been more than just a silly, tag-along burden to the man.

"Th-Thank you, professor!" Luke said earnestly, eyes wide and a grin stretched across his face. His voice dropped to a shy whisper as he uttered the next sentence, "I'm glad I came here."

Layton swallowed the lump in his throat, giving a weak, shaky smile of his own. "Any time, Luke."

Luke continued to beam at him for a moment or two. His heart felt lighter and the chaotic storm in his mind was but a memory. His gaze then darted around the room and landed on the sink.

"Professor! What is _that?"_

Puzzled, Layton tilted his head to the side at the younger man's sudden exclamation, then follows his line of sight to the sink. 'Oh dear… How embarrassing…' he groaned inwardly, meanwhile maintaining the look of sheepish guilt on his face.

"A true gentleman never leaves dirty dishes in the sink!" Luke admonished, biting his lip to keep from laughing, but Layton surprised him by beating him to the punch.

"Oh my, how ironic…" The professor chortled, putting a hand over his mouth in a vain attempt to stifle his own laughter. "I was thinking the _exact_ same thing before you got here!"

"Good heavens, professor, I think you've finally rubbed off on me after all these years!" Luke burst into another round of (manly) giggles, and pretty soon, the two shared a helpless fit of amusement with each other.

After a while, they quickly composed themselves and began washing the pile of dishes, Layton washing while Luke dried.

"Doesn't this remind you of the good old days?" Luke enquired wistfully, wiping a spoon till he could see his clear upside down reflection on it.

"Yes. I quite _miss_ those days, actually," Layton admitted, handing him the last dish. He could vaguely remember countless nights of witty banter and the occasional word puzzles over a sink full of dirty dishes, with Layton always washing while Luke was always drying. They'd done that every night, when they weren't busy with a case in some far-off destination.

However, their dish-washing sessions had ceased when Luke started taking a sudden interest in Flora, at the age of seventeen. She'd always commented on how weird it was for them to wash the dishes together every night, and Luke had started drifting farther and farther away from him since then. At that last thought, he squeezed the sponge tightly in his fist. The soapy bubbles oozed between his fingers and slowly traveled down the sink drain.

Luke gazed at his troubled expression with worry, and then, a mischievous thought occurs to him. _This_ would certainly get rid of that look. With a sneaky smirk, he darted his hand out to grab the sink hose, and with an innocent voice, asked, "Professor, what's wrong?"

Layton snapped out of his reverie and turned to Luke to reply. He was promptly met with a face full of sink water. Luke bursts out into a fit of uncontrollable laughter at the his shocked expression, so much so that he failed to notice Layton scooping up some soapy water from the sink with a devilish smirk that was completely alien to his face.

"Hey! Not fair!" Luke yelped in surprise, his entire front soaked with dishwater.

"You asked for it," Layton chuckled. He thought about how un-gentlemanly this was but couldn't bring himself to care in the slightest.

The grin on Luke's face was boyish. "_Oh_... This means war!"

A 'battle' of sorts commenced, consisting of Luke using the counter as a fort, darting up occasionally to spray the professor while the older man chased him around with a handful of dishwater . This went on for about several minutes before the two gave up and half-collapsed, half-slipped on the floor, clutching their stomachs from all the laughter they had been doing.

"That was fun…" Luke panted, sweeping the wet hair away from his face. His eyes were still alight with mischief, and for a moment he entertains the idea of catching the professor unaware and reviving their impromptu water fight, but his exhaustion told him otherwise.

"That was positively juvenile…" Layton breathed in reply, looking down at his damp clothes. Both of them were thoroughly soaked, and the kitchen floor was now covered in a big puddle of water and suds. The sounds of their heavy, tired breaths filled the room. "Well… At least it's saved me from the trouble of having to wash the floor…" Layton murmured humorously.

With that comment, the two grabbed a couple of hand towels and slowly began to clean up the mess, both still laughing and giggling like school children over the whole ordeal.

"All of that running around has me made me exhausted," sighed Luke, standing up from his bent position once he had finished wiping the last of the water off the floor.

Layton made a noise of agreement before suggesting that they should wash up and head to bed for the night. However, just as they were about to go upstairs, the professor noticed something. "Oh, Luke, you... still have some bubbles on your face…" Before he could stop himself, he stepped closer to Luke and wiped the cluster of bubbles off of the younger man's cheek, painstakingly sweeping his thumb across the smooth skin, savoring the sensation while it lasted.

The previously light-hearted mood between them grew tense in mere seconds.

Luke's face would have put a tomato to shame. His spine was as stiff as a lamp post, his heart slammed repeatedly against his ribcage, and for a moment, he almost felt dizzy. That touch… It affected Luke more than it should have.

"Well, it's getting quite late. We should probably…" Layton trailed off awkwardly, taking a step back to put some distance between them.

Luke nodded frantically in agreement. With an unreadable expression, he walked quickly past the professor and raced up the stairs.

Meanwhile, Layton mentally kicked himself. What on _Earth _had possessed him to do that? 'Smashing job, Layton. Now you've gone and scared the boy by sending him strange signals!' With a frustrated sigh, he quietly headed up the stairs.

Still, he couldn't bring himself to regret it _too_ much. He would've given anything for the chance to do it again.

* * *

That night, Layton found it hard to sleep.

He stared blankly into the inky darkness, trouble thoughts filling ever corner of his mind like wrathful specters. He wondered if Luke would up and abandon him in the morning, what with the suspicious way Layton had been treating him. His heart clenched painfully at the thought, and he wished with all of his being that he was _normal_, and that he _wasn't_ some sick, twisted individual that wanted Luke in the way that he would want a lover.

For God's sake, he was way too old to even harbor romantic feelings for the younger man, and no doubt even his closest friends would look scornfully upon such wicked machinations.

No, he thought firmly, it would be best to just force himself to view Luke as a son, no matter how painful or false it might be.

Of course, that was easier said than done.

'Perhaps a good night's sleep will ease my mind,' Feeling suddenly tired from the day's events, Layton allowed his eye lids to slide shut, letting his entire body go from rigid to relaxed as he pulled the covers up to protect himself from the winter chill.

A few moments later, he began to drift off to a deep sleep, and he was so out of it that he did not hear the slight creak of his bedroom door opening, nor did he see the pale yellow light instantly flooding the room, partly blocked by a shadowy outline of a slim figure…

"Professor…"

That single word was whispered into his ear, soft and sensual. Layton's eyes flew open, his breaths coming out in short gasps as he squinted against the darkness, struggling to see who had intruded his room.

Of course, once his mind had woken up properly, he realized that there could only be _one person_ in his room right now.

"L-Luke?" There was a drowsy hum of confirmation, followed by a pair of smooth hands wrapping around his midback, pulling his body flush against the younger man's.

The professor's pupils dilated. He gasped when he felt warm lips moving against his collar bone, moving upwards in a slow ascent towards his mouth. It wasn't until he smelled the faint reek of alcohol that he snapped out of his reverie and managed to gain enough coherency to push the younger man away.

"Luke, you mustn't," he protested quietly, struggling to keep Luke away from him as he kept trying to close the distance between them. "You…" he bit back a surprised moan as Luke somehow managed to slam their hips together, but he firmly pushed him away once more. "Y-You're drunk, Luke. Listen to me, you are _not_ thinking straight at the moment," Layton pleaded desperately, trying very hard to resist the younger man's wiles.

Luke let out a low, breathless whine, persistently trying to close the space between them once more. "_Please_, professor," he whispered in that same alluring tone, almost shattering Layton's carefully built self-control. "Let me touch you, just this once…"

The sheer desire from those words made Layton shiver, from fear or from pure _want_, he didn't know. There was just something so irresistible about the way Luke's half-lidded eyes, though clouded with intoxication, looked at him with unmistaken lust.

He pressed himself hard against the headboard, begging Luke to stop, but his resolve was already crumbling and he knew he would lose this battle. Luke advanced toward him until their faces were centimeters apart, his eyes darting down to the professor's lips. The older man trembled at the dangerously close proximity, but did nothing to distance himself.

"You've no idea how long I've been wanting to do this," Luke growled before smashing their lips together. Despite its rough beginning, the kiss was tentative, experimental, and oddly sweet. The professor hesitantly broke away from him, the reality of the situation slowly sinking in and melding into complete horror.

However, he didn't have much time to prepare himself before Luke forcefully pulled him into another, searing kiss, and all traces of his mind seemed to melt away into an imaginary pavement.

This time, there was no hesitation from either of them. Luke parted his lips slightly, and in return, Layton nibbled gently at his bottom lip before slipping his tongue inside, eliciting a quiet whimper from the younger man. An unexplainable feeling forms in the pit of Layton's stomach as Luke's hands find their way into his hair, pulling him even closer.

"L-Luke, I…" Layton's shaky ramblings soon turned into breathless moans. Their kisses grew in fervor. The heat was becoming unbearable for the both of them, and, if the almost feverish state they were in was any indication, it wouldn't be too long before things escalated.

Which was why, when Layton felt Luke undoing the top buttons of his shirt, his body went completely rigid. Not wasting another second, he put his hand on top of Luke's as an indication for him to stop.

"Luke." The cold conviction in Layton's voice was enough to make Luke stop immediately. The younger man's lips were swollen and his appearance was disheveled from their recent activities, but from the glint in his eye, the professor knew he had regained his senses. "Luke, you're going to be a father. _Think_ for a second before… before you do something you'll regret."

Outside, the world was as still and quiet as it was in the room.

* * *

Flora is pregnant, and Luke is the father.

Somehow, that statement seemed less painful this morning, no matter how many times Layton has brokenly repeated it to himself last night.

The sun was still halfway below the horizon, its faint rays bringing milky light upon the quietly stirring streets of London.

Layton was not aware of the sun. He was not aware that the street vendors were setting up shop in the early light of near-morning, nor was he aware of anything else outside of this room, because right now, Luke is sleeping soundly beside him.

Layton's eyes are captivated by him; by the way his lips curve into a smile as he dreamt a happy dream, no doubt of his future with Flora and a lovely child between them. By the way his messy hair fell across his closed eyes, and by the way he clutched the sheets as he shifted restlessly in his sleep from time to time.

Layton ingrained this image into his mind, tucking it away with all of the other precious moments that were stored deep within the recesses of his memory. This would probably, no, _definitely_, be the last time he would see Luke like this, completely vulnerable and comfortable in his bed.

Sunlight seeped in through the dirt-smudged windows now, and Layton knew that their time together, at least under _these_ circumstances, was drawing to a close.

Slowly, Layton wrapped his arms around the back of Luke's knees and the middle of his back. He lifted the younger man up off the bed, careful not to wake him, and quietly made his way downstairs to the living room.

For a long moment, Layton stood still in front of the couch, savoring the feeling of Luke's warm body pressed slightly against his chest, but eventually snapped out of his momentary daydream and set him down gently on the couch cushions.

Luke stirred slightly in his sleep, a faint scowl forming on his face at the sudden movements that have disturbed his slumber, but thankfully, his body became still again. Layton wanted to say something, because, after all, there would be no one to hear him. However, the three words that he'd been holding back for years _still_ do not come out.

He leaves without a word.

* * *

As expected, Flora makes a surprise visit a few hours later, claiming that she'd been looking for Luke all night to tell him how sorry she was for over-reacting and that he was more than welcome to come back home if he still wanted to.

As Layton had foreseen, Luke puts on a cheery grin and pulls his wife into a warm, reassuring hug, despite the fact that he had a slight hangover from…

And, inevitably, Layton had put on his usual, gentlemanly façade, laughing politely and saying that no, of course not… Luke hadn't troubled him in the _slightest_ last night.

Luke stayed strangely silent during the whole ordeal. Flora expressed her relief and thanked the professor as the couple walked out of the front door. After all, they had a lot of preparing to do.

'It was all just a bad dream,' Layton thought absent-mindedly to himself in the middle of rinsing his tea cup. He set it down on the counter to dry, next to a slightly damp dish-rag, before making his way to the study, intent on looking up more cases that he could pursue once he went back to work.

'Luke and I… we'd never give in to our weaknesses _that_ easily,' Once he dog-eared the corner of the last newspaper article and filed it away into his shelf, he wandered out into the hallway, at a loss of what to do next. That was a bad thing; he needed _something_ to keep his mind busy, he couldn't afford to be idle.

He gave up and stood in the same spot in the middle of the hallway as thoughts flooded his brain. For once in his life, he cursed his mind for its ability to over-think things.

'There is _no reason_ for you to be so caught up on this.' His hands clenched into tight fists, as if he was physically _willing_ himself to let go of his misconceptions. 'It was just… a _dream_…'

And for a chilling moment, Layton almost believed himself.

* * *

_After Layton had walked out of the living room, Luke sighed and clutched a cushion to his chest, burying the side of his face into it. At the moment, he was having the best dream of his life. _

"_Mmph…" he grunted sleepily into the pillow, fully engrossed in his dream. Seconds later, he turned in his sleep, a drowsy smile making its way onto his face as he murmurs the next sentence under his breath._ "I love you too… professor."

_Of course to him, the possibility of this dream ever coming true was zero to none. He would forever be just an adopted son to the professor, because realistically, the chances of Layton harboring romantic feelings for him were too radical to even _exist_. _

_But he could dream, couldn't he?_

**The End**

* * *

_* _I am well aware that the ages in this story are inaccurate; Layton and Luke meet when Luke is eight years old. Layton is thirty-seven years old at the beginning of the game, and Luke is around eight to ten years old, I believe. I intentionally screwed with the ages, because, in my personal opinion, big age gaps are kind of… suspicious. That is all I have to say on this matter.

Also, I apologize in advance if the information in this story is inaccurate and not canon; I've only played up to Diabolical Box, so I'm afraid my knowledge of Professor Layton is not up to date… yet.

As a side note, I'm _also_ aware through Wikipedia (insert embarrassed laugh here) that Luke and (**SPOILER ALERT FOR THOSE WHO HAVE NEVER PLAYED PROFESSOR LAYTON AND THE UNWOUND FUTURE**) Clive, AKA "Legal Luke", are two different people, but for _this_ story, they are one and the same, simply because… this is my story, and I decide what I put in it.

Well, feel free to drop a review on your thoughts about this rather bland story, no matter how old it is.


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